The Dead Days
by alwayshellogoodbye
Summary: The dead have risen and society has crumbled. There are survivors but their number is few and more will fall. There is little talk of hope. Zombie Apocalypse AU. Full info inside.
1. Thread One: Part One

**Full Summary:** The dead have risen and society has crumbled. There are survivors but their number is few and more will fall. There is little talk of hope.

Zombie Apocalypse AU loosely based on The Walking Dead TV series. Story follows the many characters of Hetalia as they navigate the dead and each other. There will be various levels of angst, violence and gore and, while I hate myself for it, character deaths (it is loosely based on TWD after all). The main points of view are Arthur, Alfred, Francis, Antonio, Lovino, Feliciano, Gilbert, Matthew, Kiku and Ludwig though many other characters will be included.

There will be romantic pairings but the depth of the relationships will vary depending on the couple and what happens to the characters. Couples I like and may be included are: FrUK, USUK, GerIta, Spamano, PruCan, SuFin, LietPol, SwissLiech, AusHun, Ameripan, DenNor, HongIce.

**Warning:** Chapter has suicidal themes.

* * *

**The Dead Days**

Thread One: Part One  
Arthur

Arthur Kirkland sat beside the window, forehead pressed against the cold glass and his injured leg propped up on the opposite chair. His stomach growled, sounding horrifically loud in the silent room but Arthur no longer winced at the volume. A gun weighed heavy in his right hand.

Outside the dead wandered aimlessly under a cloudless blue sky.

There was no grace to the abominations stumbling down the street, no direction, no thought. They moved one foot in front of the other, travelling always onwards until prey flitted across their path or the scent of blood filled their nostrils.

He rubbed fingers against the blood crusted on his jeans. Arthur had worried that they would sniff him out in the pharmacy and come clambering through the windows but so far he had escaped their attention unnoticed, instead leaving him free to spy on them. Initially he thought the chance of observation might lead to discoveries on their nature or process but he learnt nothing more than his previous knowledge; the undead were mindless droves with a never-ending craving for human flesh.

He didn't know whether that made him feel better or worse. He didn't know if he cared either way.

Arthur's thumb ran up and down the ridged grip of the gun. He'd never held one until the apocalypse, never even seen one before that. He hadn't realised it would be so heavy. Or so loud.

That's what had surprised him the most the first time he'd pulled the trigger. Not the hole it had put through that girl's face or the sight of her crumbling wordlessly to the ground, no it was the sharp bang, loud enough to hurt his ears and let the gun fall from trembling fingers to clatter against the pavement. Loud enough to stun him for a moment, a moment in which one of those dead things tore into his brother's neck.

That had been two days ago, back when the Kirkland siblings fought tooth and nail to escape the city, and failed. Arthur couldn't say he was surprised; they'd always been much better at fighting each other than teaming up. Really, they were doomed from the start.

Still though, he hoped against hope that they were alive and safe and together, especially Peter. His siblings were strong and determined but as much as Peter puffed his chest and wore an air of bravado, he was still a child. A child lost in a new, cruel world.

Arthur's stomach grumbled again. He took a tiny sip from his half empty bottle of water but it did nothing to quench the gnawing hunger that had grown painful. He remembered reading somewhere that a human could live without food for up to three weeks, but Arthur had no wish to find out if that was true. Of course the wound in his leg could catch an infection and kill him off before that, assuming one of the dead didn't find him first.

Such choice: starvation, infection or cannibalism.

Or there was a fourth option.

He had five bullets in the gun and he only needed one.

Arthur glanced down at the weapon. It would be the preferable option – instant and painless. There's wouldn't be weeks of agony as his body shut down and devoured itself or the struggle against those things as they attacked and tore him to pieces. All it took was one pull of the trigger and it would be over. No more struggling or useless worrying over things he had no control over. Just a simple ending.

Or so the logical side of himself said. The romantic side that only revealed itself in Arthur's writing spoke of hope and family and future. Because what if, right now, his brothers and sister were waiting for him, or that a cure had been discovered, or that soldiers were on their way to rescue him? What if he could find food or an escape? What if, this time next week, it would all be over and remembered only as a terrible time in history akin to the Black Death?

What if, what if, what if...

Who was he kidding? Before the world had descended into silence Arthur had read about the dead ravaging schools and hospitals in the papers, watched as neighbours turned on each other on the telly and listened to first-hand accounts of traumatised survivors on the radio.

Overnight – it seemed – the world had fallen to hell and Arthur was crawling through the cold ashes.

Arthur barked a laugh. Here he was, painfully hungry, his leg torn with a horde of the undead on the other side of the window and he wanted a pen to note his end of the world romanticisms. How bloody typical of himse-

A scuff of rubber against linoleum ripped Arthur from his thoughts. His body tensed as his right hand gripped tight hold of the gun. Holding his breath, he strained his ears for any sound in the pharmacy.

For a long few seconds there was nothing, and then footsteps.

Arthur inhaled and glanced at the gun, at the window and at the end of the counter. Panicked thoughts sped through his head but his body remained frozen in place. His injured leg would slow him down and moving it might tear the wound and fresh blood would draw the thing in. Staying would be pointless because any moment it would come around the corner and find him. The gun would kill it but attract the dead outside, as would escaping through the window. He had no knife or means of killing the thing silently. There were no places to hide.

And then all too soon it came into view. The man, wearing what was once a nice suit, locked Arthur in its sights and lurched forward with renewed vigour.

Arthur lifted the gun and aimed for the head.

Five bullets. One for the dead thing in front of him. He still had four left to make an escape and find a new hideout. After all he had got this far by himself with the wound in his leg and no food, he could do it again.

He could still survive. He still had a chance.

Arthur held the dead man in his sights. Then he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.

* * *

**A/N:** I know there's tons of zombie stories for Hetalia and whilst mine is probably nothing new I wanted to write something darker and more serious than the two fics I currently have up. I hope you guys liked this short opening even if the ending was not so happy.

Also, the setting is a semi-fictional America where (due to my lack of American knowledge) states will not be named, places will be made up (or based on TWD) and English terms will most likely be used (being English and all). Finally no explanation will be given as to why all the characters have different nationalities, plus homosexual relationships will not be discriminated against (partly because of the many gay characters and partly because I hate homophobia).

I think that makes sense but if not feel free to ask any questions. You should also feel free to leave a review if the mood strikes you :)


	2. Thread Two: Part One

Thread Two: Part One  
Ludwig

"Mein Gott, can't we just go already?" Gilbert asked as he leant forward from the backseat of the car.

"Quiet," Ludwig Beilschmidt mumbled, catching their father give Gilbert an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye.

Gilbert fell back with a huff. "There's no one there, dead, alive, zombie or otherwise."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that?" their father asked as he narrowed his eyes at Gilbert in the mirror.

"After waiting this long? Ja, ja I am."

"Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not there," Ludwig said hoping to diffuse the tension in the car. His brother and father butted heads enough before the dead came back to life but now that they were stuck together nearly every minute of the day the friction was nearing outright aggressive.

"And how long should we wait?"

Ludwig glanced at their father. His hands clenched the wheel until his knuckles were white, his mouth set in a taut grimace. "Till I say so," he said.

Ludwig knew the answer would only infuriate Gilbert further so he turned in his seat and gave his brother a look.

Gilbert inhaled and exhaled audibly but kept his mouth shut.

"You need to learn patience," their father said and Ludwig wished he hadn't.

Gilbert leant forward and glared at the back of their father's head. "Ja of course. The world's fucking ended and zombies are on the loose and I need to sit back and learn some patience."

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair. "Just a few more minutes, Bruder."

Gilbert continued to scowl but held his tongue. They sat in the car, scouring the area for bodies, dead or living. Unlike their previous crazed stop, this petrol station was on the outskirts of the town and free from dozens of dead snapping at their heels and the living threatening them with bullets. They'd barely escaped with their life and limbs then and their father was determined not to let them end up in the same position again. Now they waited and checked for armed looters and the salivating dead before making a move.

So far it had just been one thin man missing an ear but he had wandered off and left the area clear. Of course that didn't mean there weren't more in the shop or around the back but there was only so much they could see from the confines of a car.

After another minute, their father turned on the engine and inched into the petrol station. They came to a stop and the three of them got out of the car, Gilbert muttering, "Finally," under his breath. Ludwig held his pistol in both hands and was comforted by the second in the holster and a survival knife taken from one of the looters at his hip.

As discussed, their father went about to the petrol pump whilst Ludwig and his brother slipped into the shop. When the door closed behind them, Ludwig and Gilbert paused, ears straining for the faintest sound that might indicate one of the dead hidden in an aisle or looters residing in the back. With nothing forthcoming, Gilbert crept forward, peering around the corner of each aisle before continuing onwards when it was empty. Ludwig followed, body tense and mouth dry. Each clack of their shoes on the linoleum boomed like a bullet in the deafening silence of the shop, each breath like a roar, each heartbeat like a drum.

Memories of their last visit to a supermarket flew through his head; looters shooting into a panicked crowd, strangers using one another as shields, the living trampled underfoot, lost children crying for help and then the dead smashing the windows and devouring the injured who couldn't flee fast enough.

Ludwig had watched with fascinated horror, unable to believe the chaos in front of him. The previous week he had been walking Otto, his German Shepherd in the park and then a few days later he was witness to the dead returning to life as hungry monsters, his town falling to shambles as neighbours turned on each other. It had all happened so fast, too fast for Ludwig to properly comprehend how and why this was happening. Instead he had been swept up in the crowd and the fear and only his father's military experience and his brother's quick thinking had got them out of that shop, that town alive.

It took them less than a minute to sweep the shop but it felt much longer. The shop was empty, as was the cluttered backroom with a rotting half eaten bagel and cold cup of coffee on the desk revealing the owner having fled days ago. Wherever he'd gone, Ludwig guessed the owner would not be returning.

Gilbert relaxed his stance and wandered towards the fridge at the back of the shop, Ludwig trailing after him.

"Alright," Gilbert said with a cackle as he opened the door and pulled out a box of twelve beers.

Ludwig opened his mouth to tell Gilbert to focus on necessary items but stopped himself. Keeping with the German stereotype, the Beilschmidt's had a fondness for beer and while it might not have essential for survival it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy a drink every now and then.

The two of them set about filling the bags with bottles of water, food and other basic items like matches, first aid materials and personal hygiene supplies.

They were nearly done when the sound of a door opening came from the backroom.

Gilbert and Ludwig shared a look, both dropping the bags and finding their guns. Ludwig resisted the urge to swear, unable to believe that neither he nor his brother had thought to check whether the backdoor was locked. Perhaps the owner hadn't perished after all.

A glance towards the windows showed their father filling empty cans with petrol, unaware of their new company.

Ludwig listened to muffled voices before the door between the backroom and the shop opened and noisy whispering filled the silence.

Gilbert ducked and crawled towards the left end of the aisle and Ludwig moved to the right.

"Look, look," said an excited voice in an Italian accent. "It's not empty. There's tins and sweets and drinks, and wow, even pasta!"

"Keep quiet," said a second, grumpier Italian.

"But I could boil the water and make us a proper dinner," said the first person. "Wouldn't that be nice for a change?"

"That sounds delicious," said a third, cheerful voice. "And we can have a bottle of wine or two with it."

"Can we have dessert too?" a fourth person chimed in; another Italian but with a younger voice.

"Keep it down," said the second person. "There might be one of them in here."

"You don't have to worry all the time, Lovi," said the third man. "If they were here they would be attacking us already. Why don't you take a break and relax?"

Ludwig glanced down the aisle to his crouching brother. They exchanged incredulous looks. How had these people managed to last this long? They were loud, careless and unobservant in their surroundings; they shouldn't have lasted a day.

Gilbert peered around the aisle and Ludwig did the same.

Humming in front of the pasta stood a young man with auburn hair and a curl flicking to the left. He was a maybe a little below average height with a slight build and Ludwig guessed he was quick at dodging the dead since he seemed to lack the muscles to fight his way through them. Ludwig eyes widened in shocked horror as the man carelessly dropped his gun on the shelf behind him so he could compare two bags of pasta.

How the hell was this guy not dead? It had to be pure luck because there couldn't be any other explanation for it.

Ludwig rose to peer over the top shelf. The other three were two aisles away. They all shared similar hair and features so he guessed they were related, probably the two twenty year olds and the teenager being brothers with the older man as their father or uncle. Both adults were distracted although they, excepting the unarmed teenager, at least had the sense to keep their weapons within reach.

Gilbert covered his mouth but a snort broke through.

Immediately the two men and teenager in the far aisle turned their way, raising guns as they did. Ludwig pointed his own over the shelf and Gilbert did the same.

"Feli, get over here," the elder brother said.

Ludwig trained his gun on Feli, whose eyes widened and the pasta fell from his grip. "Stay where you are," Ludwig said.

"Don't you dare point that at my brother, you bastard," growled the darker haired Italian.

"Then lower the gun pointing at my Bruder," Ludwig said, hoping that Gilbert wouldn't start mouthing off and both families could leave without casualties.

"No fucking chance."

Gilbert grinned. "Then I suggest you start backing the fuck out of here before we start shooting."

Feli made a noise and his eyes clouded with fear.

"Come on now," said the oldest of the three, "there's no need for threats or violence. We're only after some food and then we'll be on our way."

"We were here first," Gilbert said.

"So what?" asked the teenager.

"So everything here is ours and you need to find somewhere else."

"But there is no place else." Feli said, his voice and expression forlorn. "We're starving and this is the first safe place we've been to in days. Why can't we share?"

"Because we were here first."

"Ah, come on now," the elder of the four said with a sincere smile that Ludwig hadn't seen since dead came back to life. "There's more than enough for everyone here. But since you got here before us you can have first pick."

"Of course we will-" Gilbert began when the front door opened.

The six of them spun towards the entrance. Ludwig relaxed when he saw it was only his father.

"What's going on?" he asked as he eyed the four strangers, the rifle ready in his hands.

"Relax, relax," the elder said and held up in hands as a sign of surrender. "We're all here looking for food and there's more than enough to go around. Why don't you let us get what we need and then we'll be on our way."

Their father took the four of them in before nodding. "Fine," he said before adding a, "Hurry up," to Ludwig and Gilbert.

Ludwig lowered his weapon and went back to filling his bag with their father standing guard over them. "So where are you three from?" the eldest man asked their father in a tone that suggested they had met under friendly circumstances rather than during a tense confrontation in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

There was silence and Ludwig suspected that his father was frowning at the man who seemed oblivious to the hostility.

As Ludwig packed tins into his bag, he became aware of eyes following him. He paused and looked up from his crouched position to catch Feli watching him. The moment their gaze connected, Feli backed away.

Ludwig straightened up and found himself towering over the Italian. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the guy. Struggling in this apocalypse was hard enough for himself but for a small, nervous guy like this it must have been hell.

Ludwig picked Feli's forgotten revolver off the counter. Feli twitched and looked as though debating whether to flee. "Here," Ludwig said and handed it to the Italian. Feli stared at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching for it with trembling fingers. "Keep it on you at all times," Ludwig said. "You never know when you'll need it."

Feli eyed the gun in his hand as if unsure what it was. Then he lifted his gaze revealing warm, amber eyes. "Grazie," he said with a soft smile that lit up his face.

Ludwig felt his cheeks heat up, unsure what to do with the revered look he was receiving.

"Feli," the brother shouted. "Stay away from that bastard."

"I'm fine, Lovi," Feli said with a brief wave before he turned back to Ludwig. "I'm Feliciano Vargas and that's my older fratello Lovino, my younger fratello Marcello and my papá Julius."

"Er..." Ludwig began as he tried to comprehend why someone who two minutes ago was on the wrong end of a gun was now freely introducing himself to the one holding said gun. He wondered if maybe Feliciano was shell shocked or trying to hold on to social normality in an attempt to keep his grip on this vastly changed world. Or maybe it was an Italian thing.

Feliciano tilted his head, wearing a questioning look.

Ludwig coughed and held out his hand. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. That's my Bruder Gilbert, and my Vater Alaric."

Feliciano shook his hand enthusiastically. "You're with your family too? That's great. I don't know where I'd be without mine."

The handshake stilled but Feliciano hadn't let go. The smile drifted lower on his face to be replaced with the lost look Ludwig had seen on so many people since everything went to hell.

"Feli!" Lovino shouted again as he marched over. "Don't talk to them."

"But Ludwig's nice."

"You think everyone's nice," Lovino said and tugged Feliciano's hand free from Ludwig's. "And you shouldn't be on a first name basis with these bastards."

"But Ludwig is nice, he gave me my gun back."

"I don't care if he gave you a grenade, you need to stay away from him."

"Let him be, Lovi, it's good to make friends, especially in this climate," Julius said as he filled a box with nothing but bottles of red wine.

"We're not making friends," Ludwig's father said with an affronted expression on his face.

Julius grinned. "Ah but we should. It's the end of the world and the dead are coming to life to snack on the living. When has there been a better time to form an alliance?"

"Yeah!" Feliciano said. "Why don't you stay and I'll make us all a delizioso pasta dish."

"And dessert," Marcello added.

"We're not staying," their father said.

"Why not?" Gilbert asked, likely having perked up at the mention of a hot meal that wasn't baked beans.

"Because we need to get on the road and away from here before more people turn up."

"Then why don't you come with us?" Feliciano asked.

"There's no room in our car," their father said, his tone annoyed.

"Not to worry," Julius said. "We have our own. You can follow behind us."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Gilbert asked. "What's the harm in one meal?"

"How do we know they're not going to kill us and steal our belongings when we turn our back."

"Are you kidding me? Look at them."

Lovino glared at Gilbert. "What's that supposed to mean, bastard?"

"Perhaps we should get going," Ludwig said before guns were raised once more.

Feliciano grabbed his arm. "What? Why?"

Ludwig peered down at him and wished he hadn't. Feliciano's eyes watered and he seemed perilously close to tears. He glanced around but found no help in dealing with an emotional Italian.

A meal wouldn't hurt, plus it had been just the three of them for so long that they were starved for fresh social interactions. "I suppose it might be healthy to take a break from only our own company for once," Ludwig said with a shrug. "One meal, Vater?"

Their father's gaze flickered from the Vargas family to his scowling son. "One meal."

"With dessert," Marcello said adamantly.

Feliciano laughed and threw his arms around an uncomfortable Ludwig. He hoped he wouldn't come to regret the decision.

* * *

**Characters: **Alaric = Germania; Julius = Rome; Marcello = Seborga

**A/N:** So a slightly different tone for this chapter than the first but I didn't want to make it doom and gloom all the time. Also I had to keep toning down Feliciano's cheerful attitude since, you know, zombie apocalypse and all that. Marcello was a last minute edition that I wrote in after I had finished this (which is why he doesn't have many lines) but I wanted to add in loads of characters and it made sense to make him a Vargas (and I don't know much about Seborga's character other than he seems cheerful and likes to flirt so sorry if he seems OC).

Thanks to Kignon and AFleetingPhantom for reviewing and to everyone who followed - you guys are the best!


	3. Thread Three: Part One

Thread Three: Part One  
Alfred

Officer Jones stood at the barrier, occasionally wandering up and down his territory when he needed to stretch his legs. It wasn't the kind of assignment that he'd dreamed about when he'd first joined the Sheriff's Department, but, then again, a lot had changed since then and now.

A week ago reports of the virus that reanimated the dead and spread through bite began appearing in the news. First it was a hoax, then an isolated incident, then an epidemic. Cities fell, the airwaves and TV turned static and the army took over his hometown.

The military had beaten the virus to King County, arriving only two days ago. After failing to secure the cities they had fallen to the towns in an attempt to establish a secure base and retain hold of an ailing society. It was probably the only thing saving the town.

Many of the soldiers had experienced the outbreak first hand and they were quick to rush through King County, examining everyone for infection, enforcing a curfew and building barriers around the town to keep out the undead. They had rationed the food, water and medical supplies, evacuated those on the outskirts to secure homes in town and policed the panicking locals. They had taken over the Sheriff's Department and relegated the officers to jobs below their pay grade, which had earned grumblings from Alfred's superiors. Whilst Alfred didn't begrudge them himself, patrolling the borders was a little lonely and he sorely missed the company of his fellow officers, particularly his cousin Matthew.

Alfred stretched his back and tilted his head to look out over the empty fields. He badly wanted to retrieve his Nintendo DS from his car or play on his phone but his work ethic and fastidious need to follow duty overrode his boredom.

Instead he choose to peer into the distance through the scope on his rifle and muse over the fact that his favourite video games had become a reality, though he had yet to blow a zombie's brains out much less even meet one.

He'd hoped one might stumble through the fields but the most exciting thing to come his way was a lone cow that alternated between chewing on grass and dawdling towards the opposite woods.

At quarter past the hour, Alfred radioed in to the station to report the familiar 'all clear'. He wondered if Matthew or another officer had managed to spot a zombie, though he kind of hoped he would be the first.

The horror of the last week – when the news was twenty-four-seven zombie updates – had faded with the media blackout and the lack of actual zombies. In fact, if it wasn't for the sense of isolation from the rest of the world and the soldiers stationed in town, Alfred wouldn't have believed it. He almost still didn't believe it, especially when the soldiers threw words like 'apocalypse' and 'extermination' around and Alfred was still visiting his favourite diner and chowing down on the homemade pecan pie.

He supposed things would blow over soon. The scientists would find a cure, the government would re-establish order and the army would eliminate the zombies. America would be saved and King County would go on as it ever had, along with Alfred's unexciting existence.

#

A little before five, Matthew's car pulled up beside Alfred's pickup truck. "Afternoon," Matthew shouted with a nod. "Spotted anything?"

"I wish. Brought the pizza?"

"Yeah I brought it," Matthew said with an exasperated shake of his head.

"Awesome."

Matthew smiled as Alfred climbed down for his perch and joined him. They sat on the hood of Alfred's truck and shared the large pepperoni and sodas. Shame it was frozen and not a Romano's.

"How's everything in town?" Alfred asked in between bites.

Matthew shrugged. "The same. Everyone's tense and the armed soldiers wandering the streets aren't helping."

"They're keeping everyone safe."

"They're making everyone nervous. It's one thing having them protect our town but it's another thing but them to treat us like we're the enemy."

"What are you talking about?"

Matthew gave Alfred one of his looks that suggested he couldn't believe how dumb Alfred was. Alfred hated those looks.

"Come on, Al, you can't be that oblivious."

"Oblivious to what?"

"Oblivious to the 'us' and 'them' vibe that everyone but apparently you has picked up on."

"Us and them?"

Matthew sipped his drink. "The soldiers keep to themselves and don't socialise with the locals, not even the people in our department. They've basically roped off the hospital and are treating everyone inside as criminals, personally vetting anyone who wants to enter or leave regardless of injury. They've closed all the bars but are keeping the alcohol to themselves, they're getting first dibs on the food, they're withholding medicine, the male soldiers are forcing women and girls to strip for inspections, they're-"

"Ok, ok, I get it," Alfred said and dropped his half eaten slice of pizza back into the box. It tasted like cardboard.

"Do you really? Because you're treating them like our saviours."

"I'm not saying they're perfect but we'd be screwed without them."

Matthew frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess. I just wish they'd go about it a different way."

"Ah well," Alfred said as he drained the last of his soda. "It'll probably be over in a few weeks anyway."

Matthew gave him another look.

"What?"

"Did you even watch the news?"

"Yeah of course, but it can't be that bad if we still haven't had a zombie in these parts. I mean, I realise we're not Atlanta or Macon but if they haven't hit us at all then they can't be that widespread."

Matthew frowned at the word 'zombie' but didn't mention it. "I think if the military couldn't save the city and had to fall back here then we're in a lot more trouble than you realise."

"Either way, I still want to blow a zombie's brains out."

"Spoken like the immature teenager you are."

"We're the same age!"

"But I act like a cop not a college frat boy."

Alfred stuck his tongue out.

"Way to prove my point."

#

He'd been driving down empty roads for ten minutes, singing – off key as Matthew often enjoyed reminding him – when a figure stumbled in his path.

Alfred cursed. He yanked the steering wheel to the right and hit the brakes. His truck screeched to a stop.

A body lay in the middle of the road, illuminated in the headlights.

Alfred threw open the door and ran towards the unmoving woman. "Ma'am," he called as he dropped down beside her. "Ma'am are you injured? Can you hear me?"

He reached forward and felt for a pulse. Her shoulder was wet. Alfred pulled back his hand and held it in the light. It dripped with blood.

The woman groaned.

Alfred fell backwards and fumbled for his gun. "Ma'am?" he asked, voice shaky.

The woman moved a bloodied arm.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Alfred raised his glock and aimed at the woman's head.

Was she an actual... was she really dead? How had one of them made it through the patrolled barriers?

All the imagined thrill of pointing a gun at one of... those fled from Alfred. Instead his hands trembled and he badly wanted to retreat to the safety of his car, radio the soldiers and have them deal with... it.

A groan sounded from the woman and she shifted on the ground.

Alfred stumbled to his feet and stepped backwards. "Ma'am, please will you..." Alfred trailed off, unsure what exactly he wanted to ask the woman. "Can you hear me?" he asked instead. "Can you understand me?"

The woman rolled onto her side and lifted her head. Long brown bangs hid her face. Blood trailed across the left side of her shoulder and chest. Beneath the red liquid, he saw the bite.

"Xin," the woman said, her voice hoarse. "Bạn giúp tôi đựơc không?"

Alfred remained frozen in place, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

The woman stretched an arm out towards him. Alfred flinched.

"Tôi... I'm hurt. I need..." Her voice cracked and tears rolled down her cheeks.

His chest tightened and his hands holding the gun wavered. The woman was injured. She was in pain, not just from the bite but from Alfred hitting her with his car. He wanted so much to follow his natural response, to call an ambulance or carry the woman into his car and haul ass to the hospital. He wanted to save her, not kill her.

His hands trembled. "I... I can't let you go. I'm supposed to... to stop you." The number one rule the soldiers had imposed on the Sheriff's Department was to shoot an infected person on sight. No questions, no pause, just point and shoot.

Alfred understood their reasoning but it seemed inhumane to kill someone like a rabid dog.

"I don't want to die," the woman said, her words almost lost in gasping sobs. "I'm so scared and I don't know what to do."

"But you'll turn into one of those things," Alfred's muttered, somehow hoping his soft tone would lessen the truth in his words.

"They might find a cure. They might already be a cure. I can still be saved, there's still a chance."

Alfred said nothing.

"What if you kill me now and tomorrow the government brings the cure to King County?" she asked, a little hysterically. "Can you live knowing you murdered an innocent woman?"

"I-"

"You're supposed to protect the innocents, not murder them!"

Alfred winced.

"Would you kill your mother? What about your girlfriend or best friend? Could you kill them like this? Like they're an animal?" The woman coughed and tears slid from golden eyes. "Could you put a bullet through their head and carry their blood on your hands."

The gun lowered. With a mixture of relief and fear, Alfred made a decision. "I'll take you to the Sheriff's Department and I'll make a case for yo-"

"No," the woman said with a shake of her head. "If you take me back there they'll kill me."

"I'll ask that you be locked in a cell until a cure arrives or you..."

"And you think they'll listen to you? They're the ones that gave the order for you to shoot me in the first place."

"I can't let you go."

"Do you think handing me over to your boss so they can be the ones to kill me will make you any less guilty?"

"No but if I let you go and you become one of... them and kill someone, then that will be on me."

The woman shakily stood up and Alfred's hands both went to his glock. She didn't move towards him but smoothed out her stained green dress. "Take me to the border and get me out of here. I'll leave and no one will be at risk and I'll be alive."

"The barrier is patrolled."

"You're a deputy, I know you work on patrol. You can get me out without anyone else knowing."

"I'm off duty. Someone else has taken over."

"Then sneak me out or wait till tomorrow."

Alfred wiped sweaty palms on his pants. "What's your name?" he asked as he thought her words over.

"Lien Chung."

"I... I'm really sorry, Miss Chung, but I can't help you escape."

Lien glared at him. "Then I'll get out myself."

Alfred raised his gun. "I'll take you to the station and make a case for you. It's all I can do."

"All you can do?"

"I've already broken the number one rule by letting you live."

"Why let me live when you're going to take me to men who will kill me? Why don't you just shoot me now?" She strode towards him and pushed his chest. "Go on, shoot me. Shoot me you coward!"

Reacting on instinct, Alfred flipped the woman round onto the bonnet of his truck and snapped a handcuff on her. She screamed and kicked and cursed him in Vietnamese but Alfred managed to get her in his car where he cuffed her to the door handle. The moment the lock clicked Lien gave up struggling and broke down into tears.

Alfred turned off the music and began the drive to the station.

#

After nearly ten minutes of silence, Alfred finally asked the question that he'd been wanting to ask since they'd met.

"What happened?"

Lien turned to him, her expression cold.

He didn't think she'd answer so he jumped when she spoke.

"My father is- was ill. He died at home this afternoon. I was downstairs when I heard my mother screaming and when I ran upstairs he was..." Lien shook her head. "I pulled him off her and he went for me instead and bit my shoulder. Then my mother managed to get me away but he was clawing and biting and I couldn't save her. When I left, she was dead and he was eating her."

Fresh tears rolled down her face but she stared out the window with a blank expression. "I don't know how he got infected."

A cold shiver ran up Alfred's spine.

The rest of the journey continued in silence. After another ten minutes they arrived at the station.

Alfred turned off the engine and turned to Lien. "I won't be long," he said but she didn't look his way. He got out of the car but before he closed the door he added, "I'll do everything I can for you."

Lien remained mute.

Alfred closed the door and inhaled a deep breath before he strode into the station. He passed unfamiliar soldiers until he found his way to the Sheriff's former office. A short man with blond shoulder length blond hair blocked his path.

"What do you want?" he asked in an accent that might have been German.

"I have something important I need to tell Major Machado."

"And what would that be?"

Alfred hesitated but decided that telling this soldier would get him into seeing Machado quickly. "It's about an infected civilian."

The soldier's eyes widened and he banged on the door.

"Come in."

The soldier opened the door and crossed the room to what had been the Sheriff's desk. Back when the military had rolled into town, Alfred had expected the Major to be an overly muscled white dude with a greying buzz cut, not a thirty something year old Cuban with dreadlocks and a laugh that boomed through the building. The only thing he had in common with Alfred's movie infused version of a Major was the cigars he liked to chew on.

The soldier mumbled something and Machado looked up at Alfred. "You found an infected civilian?" he asked, jumping up from his desk and closing the door behind Alfred.

"Yes sir. I, er, I hit her with my car."

"Tell me everything that happened," Machado demanded. He and the blond soldier stood either side of Alfred, their close proximity and intense stares making him want to back out of the room.

Instead he focused on quickly retelling his meeting with Lien, putting emphasis on her name and the physical and emotional pain she'd suffered. He wanted them to see a young woman, not one of those things.

He'd barely finished his story when Machado grabbed his collar and dragged him so close their noses were almost touching. "You left her in your car?" he growled.

"I..." Alfred faltered, unsure of where he was going with the sentence. He wanted to speak of a cure or expound on the value of a human life but he knew his words would be scoffed at. "I promised I'd help her," he finished lamely.

Machado glared at Alfred before pushing him roughly away. He turned to the other soldier. "Bring her here and do it quietly, Zwingli. I don't need a riot on my hands."

Zwingli nodded and was gone in the blink of an eye.

A vein pulsed in Machado's forehead. Alfred turned his gaze to the floor. Even though he hated admitting it, even if only to himself, Machado intimidated him. It wasn't the inch or two Machado stood over him or his bulkier frame, it was the badge on his uniform. Alfred had been raised to respect his elders and listen to his superiors, to say 'yes sir' and 'right away ma'am' without question; to disobey a direct order from the Major churned his stomach.

Machado turned to his desk and pulled a cigar out of the drawer. He held it to his lips, paused, then put it back way.

Alfred watched without a word, his body taut and stationed in place.

"What did you say your name was?" Machado asked, his voice a growl.

"J-Jones, Alfred Jones."

"Maldito idiota Americano."

Though he didn't speak Spanish, Alfred could guess the gist of Machado's words.

Without a knock, the door opened the Zwingli returned with Lien. Her eyes were dilated, her hands shaking. Alfred stepped towards her, forcing a smile on his face to help relax her. She looked away.

The door closed and Machado pounced, asking question after question, some that Alfred had already giving answers to. As it went on Machado's tone turned more accusatory, his questions more demanding as Lien answered with terse words and unveiled malice. It wasn't an interview with a victim but an interrogation with a suspect.

For all his questions though, Lien revealed nothing more than she had told Alfred.

A long pause ended the conversation.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" Lien asked, her voice breaking on the word 'kill'.

Machado and Zwingli shared a look. Alfred knew exactly what it meant.

"We should put her in a cell," Alfred blurted out.

Machado glared at him.

Alfred glanced back to the floor but carried on speaking, fulfilling his promise to help Lien. "If we keep her in a cell she won't be able to harm anyone and we can keep an eye on her." Alfred spoke quickly but was unable to keep the tremors out of his voice. "And if... if there's a cure then we can... save her," he finished lamely.

Machado and Zwingli both wore frowns.

"Please don't kill me," Lien whispered, all anger lost. "Put me in a cell and keep me as subject to study just please don't kill me."

Zwingli leaned towards Machado and muttered something in his ear that Alfred couldn't hear.

Machado scratched his chin before wandering over to his desk and lighting up a cigar. He breathed out a cloud of smoke. "Do it."

"Do what?" Lien asked.

"This way," Zwingli said.

Lien glanced between the three of them and shook her head. Quick Vietnamese flew from her mouth as her hands curled into fists. "No, no, no!" Lien screamed and dove at Alfred, her teeth glinting white.

Alfred tumbled backwards as a gunshot exploded through the room.

Lien toppled on top of him. Warm blood pooled from her head and soaked through his shirt and pants. Alfred inhaled sharply.

The door burst open and suddenly the room was filled with soldiers pointing their guns and screaming at Alfred. Their voices were almost deafening and all he could do was sit and blink and feel the weight of Lien grow heavier on his chest.

Machado grabbed Lien and roughly rolled her over before snatching Alfred's collar and tugging him to his feet. "Strip," he ordered.

"What?" Alfred asked dumbly.

"You strip right now or Zwingli will put a bullet in your brain too."

"I-"

Zwingli darted forwards and the muzzle of his rifle brushed against Alfred's forehead.

The shouts of the soldiers fell to a claustrophobic silence as Alfred fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He peeled the wet fabric off and followed with his pants until he stood in only his boxers.

"Everything," Machado said. "I need to see that she didn't infect you."

Alfred managed to blush despite the confusion and fear coursing through his bones. "She didn't bite my ass," he blurted out.

Machado flicked the ash of his cigar into a cup. "Shut up and take it off."

Alfred hesitated but one look at Zwingli's blank face and the soldiers with their fingers poised over triggers and he tugged his boxers to his ankles. With a burning face he crossed his hands in front of his crotch.

Machado and Zwingli examined him with cold eyes before Machado nodded.

Alfred breathed out the breath he'd been holding in and reached for his boxers.

Machado shook his head. "We need these clothes and the body burned. Zwingli, get a team together and get out to the Chung residence and you," Machado said to Alfred, "get in a shower and clean yourself off."

Zwingli left the room and Alfred stood there, naked and unthinking, watching two soldiers wrap Lien in a blanket as Machado sat at his desk and finished his cigar.

* * *

**Characters:** Carlos Machado = Cuba; Lien Chung = Vietnam

**Translations (all Google translated so probably hideously wrong): **

Vietnamese:  
Xin = Please  
Bạn giúp tôi đựơc không? = Can you help me?  
Tôi = I'm

Spanish:  
Maldito idiota Americano = Fucking American Idiot

**A/N:** I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching Sheriff's Departments (I thought all the employees were Sheriffs and I did not know that the actual Sheriff was elected but there you go) and how you go about finding getting a job in one (which I'm still not 100% sure about but from what I could tell you do a few months training and then you work there..?), and also what Machado's position in the military would be (originally I made him a Colonel but changed my mind to Major later). I've no doubt screwed up somewhere (everywhere?) so feel free to let me know where I've gone wrong. I've also attempted to make this chapter American (it was very weird writing 'mom' instead of 'mum') so again if you spot any mistakes let me know.

Thanks to lykkeligven for commenting and to everyone else who favourited and followed!


	4. Thread One: Part Two

**Previously: **Arthur decides to kill himself rather than die at the hands of the undead.

* * *

Thread One: Part Two  
Arthur

Arthur pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked uselessly.

The dead man strode forward, arms outstretched, mouth widening. Ten steps away. Now nine.

Cold panic shot up Arthur's spine. He pulled the trigger again but still no bullet took him out of this hell. The man lumbered forwards, seconds away.

Shit, what if it had jammed? That happened, right? At least it did on the telly but he wasn't a cop, or a soldier, or even a goddamn gangster and he had no idea how to fix the problem. No idea and now there was only three steps between them, three steps before the dead man was going to tear into his neck just like it had done his brother.

Arthur pushed backwards on the chair, wincing as it scraped along the floor. He heaved himself up and a cry of pain escaped his lips the moment he moved his leg.

The dead man lunged forward. His hands brushed Arthur's dirty shirt and – reacting on the instinct that had saved him a few broken noses in his teen years – he punched the dead man in the face. For a moment the dead man tilted off balance, but then he was back on this feet and throwing himself at Arthur.

They hit the floor. Hands snagged in his hair, jaws snapped in his face. Arthur used all his strength to maintain the few inches of distance between them. Up this close the pungent scent of decay clogged his throat and made his eyes water. Arthur turned his head to gasp for fresher air. His gaze landed on the gun and he wanted to laugh, or cry, when he understood the reason for the gun's earlier failure to shoot.

Instead he manoeuvred his left elbow to the dead man's throat to hold off gnashing teeth, and used his right to fumble for the gun. Arthur flinched as drool landed on his cheek but his hand curled around the grip.

With his thumb he flicked the safety off and shot the man in the head.

Blood spurted against the underside of the counter as the man flopped on top of him.

Ears still ringing, Arthur inhaled a shaky breath before he tossed the body off him. He wiped the drool off his cheek and hoisted himself up, the pain in his leg returning full force as the adrenaline fled his system.

He avoided looking at the body, avoided thinking about the way his wet shirt clung to his skin, avoided listening to the voice in his head that whispered how easily he had put a bullet in that man's brain.

Instead he lifted his gaze to the window and found the dead making their way to the pharmacy.

Without thinking, Arthur retied the rag tight around his injured thigh and hobbled to the back exit. He shifted the table out of the way, which took more effort than it should, and held his ear to the door. When there was no telltale sign of groaning or scraping fingers, Arthur cracked the door open and peered into the alley. From his position he couldn't see any of them, though he supposed there had to be at least a few lurking out of his sight range.

The pharmacy window smashed and loud moans filled the shop. Arthur didn't spare a glance as he slipped into the alley and softly pulled the door shut behind him.

Dead men shambled down the main road, passing the alley opening without pause. Down the opposite end roamed two woman and a child.

Arthur moved the gun to his left hand – determined to shoot only if absolutely necessary – while he scoured the debris for a weapon. Midway between him and the child lay a jagged piece of metal.

There was no way he could get to it without them noticing. Even if he clung to walls and moved at a snail's pace they would sniff him out before he got close enough. And it wasn't like he could run, not with his injury, but staying hidden in the doorway wasn't exactly an option either.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. Images of shooting that dead man in the pharmacy, of people attacking each other in the street, of his brother's hands reaching out for help...

He ground the heel of his palms into his eyes. Christ he needed sleep. And food. And more than a few sips of water.

Arthur opened tired eyes and located the piece of metal. No time like the present.

He pushed himself off the door and travelled along the wall, his movements jerky, probably not too unlike the dead, he thought wryly. The women wandered in loose circles but the boy stood in place, head bowed, arms dangling by his side.

Arthur had crossed a quarter of the distance. His leg throbbed and every step brought fresh pain. Still he clenched his teeth and limped on, even when the wound reopened.

The dead boy lifted his head. The skin around his mouth had been ripped away exposing all his teeth while half of his cheek hung from his face. He sniffed the air and his pale eyes latched onto Arthur, to the blood leaking down his leg.

Arthur's gaze flicked from the boy to the metal. He was closer but he knew the boy would be faster. But maybe not fast enough.

Arthur veered from the wall and did a half-jog, half-hop jig towards the metal. The boy growled, then lunged forwards. His pace was quick but unsteady, reminiscent of Arthur's drunken walks home from the pub.

It was a pitiful race, pitiful but terrifying. The boy was coming his way and behind him the two women were taking notice of the sudden movement. Arthur feared turning around and finding all those passing by the mouth of the alley were coming after him too.

With laboured breathing, sweat dripping down his spine and his leg throbbing, Arthur struggled onwards, struggled until the piece of metal was within grasp.

The boy dove at him as Arthur dove on the metal. His leg gave out and he fell to the hard ground but the impact didn't register because his hand was on the metal and the boy was reaching for his face and the women were close behind.

Arthur impaled the boy on the metal; through his throat and up into his skull. The boy dropped to his knees, gravity bringing him further down the metal. It was gruesome and hideous and made a thousand times worse when the boy's face flickered for a split second into Peter and Arthur almost gagged.

But he couldn't because the women were nearly on him.

Arthur freed the metal and used it as a cane to push himself up. The woman in a floaty dress reached him first. As soon as she within reach Arthur drove the metal through her eye socket. He pulled the metal out, suddenly aware of how it was slick with blood, before he swung it in an arc and into the second woman.

She fell to the side and brought the embedded piece of metal with her. Arthur wiped wet hands on the back of his trousers, careful not to bring them anywhere near his wound, before the unmistakable sounds of groaning drew his attention.

Behind him half a dozen of the dead were heading his way from the main street.

Arthur picked up his gun and retrieved the metal and hauled himself down the opposite end of the alley.

In thirty seconds he was passing through the gap in the chain link fence and turning onto a small side street. A quick sweep of his surroundings revealed half a dozen sat in a circle, stuffing their mouths with bloody guts.

Was it Cillian?

But no, of course, that didn't make sense; Cillian had been dead for days. They would have stripped him down long ago.

Arthur shook his head of thoughts and tried to figure out a new hiding space, or maybe an escape route. Was there even a way out of the city?

There had been too many bodies at first, too many people fleeing the city in all directions until it had been impossible not to get crushed or ran over or bitten by those already infected. They'd been caught up in that panic, desperately clinging to one another until they had to turn away when the dead began feasting and soldiers began shooting.

It had been so unbelievable loud with so much shouting and screaming and crying, so loud even without the gunshots and the breaking glass and the car crashes and the snapping of bones.

And now, now there was silence, a ghost town to the nightmare of two days past.

Arthur didn't know if that was better or worse. He supposed though, that there was no more soldiers at roadblocks, no more people clogging up the streets and that, if he got car he might be able to get out.

Or maybe a motorbike?

Arthur stared at it, parked neatly beside a meter as if waiting for its owner to return.

The motorbike would be able to sneak through the gridlocked roads. It would be loud but it would be quick. It would be more dangerous than a car but a car would be dangerous if trapped in a blocked road.

Satisfied that the dead were still enjoying their latest victim, Arthur hobbled to the bike. There were no keys but he hadn't been expecting them. With some difficulty, Arthur awkwardly managed to clamber into the seat. Recalling his recent years of delinquency, Arthur set to work hotwiring it, just as he done when he was sixteen and had taken Sibhion's motorbike for a joyride. She'd belted him when he'd returned home at three in the morning, and then Alistair had taken his shot, but Cillian had patted Arthur on the back with a grin because he and Sibhion were in another argument and he wanted to piss her off. Then Dylan had come downstairs and told them to shut up whilst Peter slept blissfully unaware in his bed.

The moment of nostalgia was cut short by the sudden movement to his right.

Arthur snatched the piece of metal balanced on his knees and shoved it towards the face of an Asian kid. A living kid. A living kid who also had a knife pointed at Arthur and a small horde of the dead following in his wake.

"Get off my bike or I'll kill you," the kid said, his voice strained.

"Finders keepers."

The kid stared at him and Arthur stared right back, purposefully not looking at the dead creeping their way.

"Do you want to die?"

"Do you think I'll live if I get off this bike?"

The kid's gaze fell to Arthur's back at which point Arthur remembered the fucking gun sticking out of his waist band and how much better it would have been to threaten the kid with that rather than the metal.

"I'm with a doctor," the kid said as his gaze travelled to Arthur's injured thigh, "and we have medicine. Move over and I'll take you to him."

The dead loomed ever closer.

Arthur shifted back in the seat. "Deal."

The kid was leaping onto the bike, twisting a key in the ignition and driving away from the horde in a dizzying speed.

Arthur clung onto the kid's backpack for dear life as they raced down the streets, weaving in and out of the lunging dead until they reached the outskirts of the city and headed into a deserted suburbia. The kid stopped the bike and stood up. "We walk the rest of the way."

"Easier said than done," Arthur murmured as he stood up.

The kid glanced at his bloody thigh as they walked the bike down the quiet streets. "How did it happen?" he asked, the underlying 'were you bitten?' went unsaid.

"Broken glass," Arthur answered. "Back when people were looting, someone smashed a window and I got pushed into the frame."

"It looks bad."

"It feels bad."

As they trailed down the street, Arthur noticed the kid peeking at the gun still tucked away in his belt. Arthur guessed it was the only reason why the kid hadn't jumped on the bike and fled.

"What's your name?" Arthur asked, if only to distract him.

The kid seemed to turn the question over in his mind before he answered with, "Li."

"Arthur. I'd shake your hand but I'm covered in blood."

Li nodded, his face passive but his gaze darting over the gun, over Arthur's blood stained shirt and hands, and over his injury.

"Is there a doctor?" Arthur asked. "Or was that a tactic to get me to move over?"

"There's a doctor."

Relief flooded his system.

They walked down the street at a relaxed pace and Arthur took the opportunity to look at the kid. On closer inspection he guessed the kid wasn't so much a kid but a young adult, maybe late teens, but it was hard to tell with Li's short height and the smudged dirt on his face. Choppy dark brown hair framed a stoic face and clothes that were at least two sizes too big emphasised his slim frame. Above brown eyes were thick eyebrows that wouldn't look out of place on a Kirkland.

Li peered his way, those dark eyebrows lowering a fraction into what might be considered a frown. "What?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head but Li remained staring at him.

"Where are the dead, the living dead I mean?" Arthur asked, again to distract Li than anything. "This neighbourhood is surprisingly quiet."

"They're at the hospital. Lots of bodies there for them to... eat."

"Oh," was Arthur could think to add.

"How did you get that blood on you?" Li asked.

"From killing them."

"Have you killed any of us?"

Arthur shook his head. He hadn't and for that he was grateful.

From the brief nod his way, Li appeared to take his word, or maybe it was a ruse to lower Arthur's guard. Or maybe Arthur was pessimistic.

After a few more minutes of painful walking, Li turned into a driveway and parked his motorbike before leading Arthur into the house.

Almost immediately, a voice called out from the depths and light footsteps sounded their way.

"Li! Li are you alright? Were you hur-"

The man came into view and froze when he found Arthur. He was Asian too, a little taller than Li with longer hair but thinner eyebrows. He glared at Arthur. "Who are you?" he spat out before turning his anger onto Li. "Who is he? Why did you bring him here?"

Li shrugged. "I had to."

"What kind of answer is that?"

When Arthur leant against the wall to alleviate the weight off his injured leg, the man saw the gun still tucked away.

"Did he threaten you?" the man asked and grabbed the nearest object – a lamp – and brandished it in Arthur's direction. "Did he hurt you?"

"He tied to steal my bike," Li answered, sounding bored.

"So you brought him here?"

"I didn't have much choice, not with the zombies chasing me."

"I told you not to call them that." The man frowned when he saw the rag around Arthur's thigh. "Are you bitten? Are you infected?"

"No, just unlucky. Or lucky depending on the way you look at it," Arthur said with a harsh laugh.

The man lowered the lamp and tilted his head as if assessing Arthur. "When was the last time you slept or ate?"

"A day or two, I think."

The man shook his head. "Li fetch some water for..."

"Arthur."

"...for Arthur and put the kettle on."

"A cup of tea?" Arthur asked, momentarily delighted as he allowed the doctor to lead him into the living room and onto the couch.

"To sterilise water so I can clean your wound, idiot," the doctor said.

"Well, I'd still love a cuppa if you could."

"No milk," Li said as he returned with a glass of water.

Arthur accepted it eagerly and downed the contents in seconds, almost moaning as the cool liquid soothed his parched throat.

Li took the empty glass and disappeared once more as the doctor pushed Arthur onto the sofa. Arthur wiggled an arm under his back to retrieve the gun digging into his spine and handed it to the doctor. He held it with distaste and moved it to a side table with great delicacy.

As he lay back on the soft cushions, a wave of exhaustion rolled over Arthur and his eyelids lowered.

Before he passed out, Arthur remembered the gun and that he was supposed to have used it on himself.

* * *

**Characters: **Cillian = Northern Ireland; Siobhan = Republic of Ireland; Alistair = Scotland; Dylan = Wales; Li Xiao Chun = Hong Kong

**A/N:** So yeah, Arthur's alive... sorry for the misdirection. I actually planned to end the first chapter on a cliffhanger with Arthur about to be killed by the zombie but then his committing suicide came to me and seemed a perfect ending. Sorry if it feels like a cop out but I never planned to kill Arthur off, at least not this early in the game.

Thanks to Capricarin for commenting on all the previous chapters and to those who favourited and followed!


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